Deathsong
by MischiefNotQuiteManaged
Summary: Love is a powerful thing. It is the only thing that can both mend hearts and shatter souls, begin wars and create peace, drive people to be better than they ever thought they could be – and force them to do more terrible things than the imagination can conjure.
1. Prelude

Love is a powerful thing. It is the only thing that can both mend hearts and shatter souls, begin wars and create peace, drive people to be better than they ever thought they could be – and force them to do more terrible things than the imagination can conjure. That is your first warning:

**Love is both beautiful and monstrous.**

Before the real story begins, you must know that people have a terrible habit of making assumptions, deciding their view on things before they even know the whole story. This is often the fault of another flaw in the human psyche: ignorance. Most will often simply presume they know the whole story – such an act will often prove dangerous, even fatal. Hence the second warning:

**The art of supposition is flawed - stay away from it at all times.**

Lastly, always remember the fragility of the world you live in. Remember even more clearly your third and final warning:

**Nothing is certain. Of that you can be sure.**

**~oOo~**

It was finally happening.

After months of decisions, paperwork, and boxes, Hermione was – at last – moving house. With bay windows, wood timbers and a thatched roof, the small cottage in the countryside had been plucked straight from the forests of fairytale folk, and relocated in the middle of Hermione's new wild garden she would be able to tend to herself after long days at the Ministry.

She'd finally managed to placate Ron and Harry by saying they could come over tomorrow – they had been really enthusiastic at the thought of helping her move into her new home (which was, Hermione thought, a product of their still viewing her as an incapable woman, rather than the idea of actually having to do _physical exercise_ that wasn't Quidditch_.) _The moving company had helped her move all her furniture and boxes into the right rooms, but the rest Hermione had demanded she be left alone to complete.

After two hours of positioning the sofa (facing the corner or against the wall?) and organizing bookshelf after bookshelf (alphabetical or by subject?), Hermione felt she'd earned a break. Deciding to check the house thoroughly to see if it was just as she remembered, she wandered up the stairs to the first floor, and continued up to the attic, choosing to start at the top and work her way down.

The attic was accessed by taking a slightly uneven, wooden staircase leading from the study. It had a large oak trapdoor sealing it shut which, after several attempts, Hermione managed to throw open, sending a storm of dust barrelling around her, attacking her eyes and her mouth as she coughed it away. Slowly, the old room came into view; the old wooden timbers supporting the thatch outside still seemed strong even though the cottage was around 100 years old - or at least that's what the estate wizard had told her upon her first viewing. There was one sash window at either end, the attic spanning the entire width of the house, and they both let in enough light that there was no sense of gloominess or melancholy in the late May afternoon. The thing that caught Hermione's eye, though, was the old wooden box next to the wall opposite the door. She hadn't seen it in previous viewings as the owners still had their things up here, but the box was rather unimpressive to look at – made of sand-coloured wood and completely bare except for the small piece of patterned brass that surrounded a keyhole on its lid. The cottage's previous occupants had taken everything else, and the box was of such a size that Hermione found it extremely implausible that they had simply forgotten about it when packing – it seemed to be around half a metre tall and deep, and about twice that in width.

Starting towards it, Hermione's innate sense of curiosity was piqued. What could be in this box? Was there anything in it at all? There was only one way to find out.

The heavy lid was forced open with a groan of complaint from the hinges – it was not locked as the keyhole had suggested to her – and she peered inside, her keen eyes quickly scanning the interior of the container.

Letters. There were letters – a whole bundle of them, all with the same wax seal stamped on them, it seemed – laying beside a beautiful, ornately carved, mahogany box. Eager hands grasped the box and lifted it from its home. As she looked closer upon its lid, she saw that the swirling, interweaving vines all surrounded two figures in the centre of the wood. It was a man and a woman, facing each other and holding hands – they appeared to be lovers.

Striding back across the attic floor, Hermione made the decision to go downstairs and have a cup of tea whilst perusing the small box further. It had been a long day, after all. She put the kettle on and dropped into a chair at her kitchen table; it wasn't quite in the position she wanted it in yet, but she could sort that out tomorrow. Her fingers drifted over the varnished wood, before they found cool metal at the rear of the box. Turning it, she found a key implanted into the otherwise untarnished surface. It was a music box.

Forgetting all about the drink she had intended to make, Hermione slowly eased open the lid of the small box. As delicate, tinkling notes cascaded gently from the box, Hermione ran her finger over the red velvet inlaid on its interior. It was such a pretty little thing, but Hermione couldn't help but wondering why it had been left behind – the previous owners had left no forwarding address, saying that they had already contacted all those it was necessary to to inform them of their change of location.

Feeling cold, she grabbed the russet jumper she'd draped over the back of the sofa earlier – it had suddenly gotten quite chilly.

For the next couple of hours, Hermione inspected the box further over dinner, trying to discern anything about its history – but it seemed its origins were to remain a mystery. After sending an owl to Harry and Ginny, and another to Ron, both of which informing their recipients that Hermione was settling in well but would not need any assistance unpacking tomorrow – she had her wand after all, she picked up the music box again and opened its lid for one last look. The sweet music echoed quietly through the half-empty room, but the lilting notes served no purpose in informing her about the curious object. Sighing, she lay the box onto her coffee table, which stood in the centre of the room, before standing up and trudging tiredly up the stairs for bed. It took about ten minutes for Hermione to brush her teeth and dig some clothes out to change into, but it had been a long day. Within minutes of her settling into her mattress, she was deeply asleep – there would be no dreams for her tonight.

Downstairs, the box slammed shut, sending the living room into abrupt silence.

A/N: I know this is short, but did you like it? This could be my first attempt at a full – length story, so please tell me if you're interested! I want to know if I should keep going with this, so I need to know if anyone's interested before I write the entire story for nobody to read. Still, though – any predictions?

This novel is inspired by Susan Hill's _The Woman in Black_, and the first section by Markus Zusak's _The Book Thief_. Obviously, I own neither!

Please review and tell me your thoughts!


	2. One

Hermione woke early the next day – although she still had a lot of unpacking to do, she needed to go into St Mungo's just for the morning as she had some appointments she could not miss. After the end of the War, she had spent several months aiding in the reparations being made to Hogwarts, helping to rebuild walls, remove rubble, and glaze countless shattered window panes. After spending so long having to plan, consider and triple-check every breath she took, having someone to just tell her what to do had been a welcome rest for her weary mind. It gave her time to come to terms with what had happened to her, and the rest of the Wizarding World, as best she could. Although she would never truly move on from the deaths of Fred Weasley and Remus Lupin, and although she would never forget what it had been like to experience Bellatrix Lestrange's sycophantic jeers and Cruciatus Curses, she had slowly learnt how to cope with it – how to carry on living. And that was enough.

Once the old school had finally returned to a hospitable state, Hermione left the grounds to live at the Burrow for a few weeks, having decided to accept the position she had been offered in St Mungo's, working with the highest-level cases and completing experiments and research in an effort to tackle more of the Wizarding world's unsolved medical mysteries.

The family had been welcoming of her – even George, who still didn't seem to have much of an opinion on anything after he had been halved by the war. Eventually, though, Hermione decided she needed to move out. Having been forced to spend every moment with the same two people – as dearly as she loved her friends – made her long for some time alone, where she could do as she wanted and relax without others constantly making noise or bustling around the house. She had rented a small, single-bed flat for a few months, simply as a quick solution to her growing agitation whilst she searched for something more permanent. That was when she had seen the listing for her dear little cottage.

As she stepped into her robes, she thought about her new home. Removed as it was from busy roads or the harsh, unforgiving lines of the city, it would finally allow her to find peace in a mind still tormented by the horrors of war. She hoped to get some more of her pictures and books out today, so that the rooms would seem a little more welcoming and homely.

Grabbing a banana from a canvas bag (she had brought a few items of food with her to last until she could go shopping), she stepped out of the oak door and locked it behind her. Of course, she could have done it with a spell, but it just didn't feel right to her. Hermione had made sure that all the wards she could think of were placed on the property as soon as she had arrived anyway, so she couldn't see that it really mattered. She walked down the path to the boundaries of her property, took one last look at her new home, and Disapparated.

Once Hermione appeared in the hospital's designated Apparition point, she strode quickly towards the lifts that would take her up to her office. She passed the short few seconds whistling tunelessly, but stopped as the metal doors glided open and she stepped out into the quiet, white corridor she worked in.

As she rounded the corner, she stopped to pick up a new file and check her appointment schedule for the morning at the receptionist's desk for her department – Paediatrics. Hermione saw patients and took rounds in the wards as regular Healers did, but also carried out extensive research on projects as either she or her superiors wanted her to.

"Morning, Lucy."

"Good morning, Healer Granger. How's the new house?" the friendly girl enquired. Lucy had been the department's receptionist for around eight months, and during that time she and Hermione had become friendly, although she had still insisted on addressing Hermione by her title when they were in the hospital. She was rather petite, with wavy caramel-coloured hair and a kind face.

"I love it. I'm leaving after my appointment with Mrs Kensington to carry on unpacking, so I'll see you in a few hours," she responded with a smile. She picked up her file and headed towards her office before remembering something and hurrying back towards Lucy's desk.

"Has he asked you yet?" she whispered, a small smile gracing her face.

"No..." the receptionist sighed, before she began to look excited. "I think he wanted to yesterday when he was dropping off some paperwork, though, but then Healer Morrisey interrupted, telling him about a new patient he wanted seeing or something. Still, though, I think he might at the end of his shift today. He said he'd come by!"

Lucy had been enamoured for weeks with another Healer in their department. Lucas Knight was a definite catch, too – he had striking blue eyes and dark brown hair that accentuated his gentle yet extremely handsome face. Hermione felt no attraction towards him, but was on good terms with her fellow Healer and thought that he and Lucy would make a good couple. Although the pair had gotten on well from their meeting, he was still yet to ask her out.

"I'm sure it'll be soon – I've seen the way he looks at you," Hermione comforted. She winked at her colleague. "Good luck!"

Laughing quietly, she turned and walked the short distance to her office, entered and set her paperwork down on her desk. Quickly, she shrugged off her outer robe and hung it on the back of her door before settling into her chair and going through the various forms and documents that lay in front of her. She signed a few off and was just putting them into a tray to her right when she heard a quiet knock at her door.

"Come in!" her soft voice called.

A woman in her mid-thirties stuck her head around the door, her mousey brown hair swinging over her shoulder as she did so. She offered a smile to Hermione as she ventured further into the room.

"Ah, Mrs Green. How are you?"

~oOo~

Sighing, Hermione put down her quill and flexed her hand a few times to work out the cramp. Whilst she loved her job, she did sometimes wish she didn't have to write _quite_ so much, especially when she wanted to get back to her cottage to continue furnishing it. The parchment whispered quietly as she picked it up to check it, and she shifted slightly to read it – a shadow had fallen across her desk from the window in her door.

As she shuffled back in her seat, Hermione placed the sheet of parchment back onto her desk and quickly put it, along with the collection of potion records and previous appointments for her last patient – the first-time mother had been suffering from very bad morning sickness and Hermione had prescribed her a potion to help. Of course, that also meant an extra document to complete for her, and an extra few minutes spent in her office.

Luckily, she had had a fifteen-minute break between patients this morning, which allowed her to get some requests for lab time filed, meaning she could leave as soon as she had tucked her patient files back into her cabinet. Shrugging her robe back on, she picked up her bag and hastily opened the door, stepping out into the corridor and locking her office behind her.

A notebook was pulled out of her bag and Hermione started to list the jobs she had to complete in order. There was a part of her in the back of her mind that was grateful the corridors were so empty, because she had her attention solely on her notepad and trying to think of all the hundreds of things she had to do to make her home more liveable. It was strange, but Hermione figured there must have been an emergency she wasn't needed for or something like that.

Continuing further along the whitewashed hallway, Hermione scribbled onto her paper – her list was getting rather extensive by this point (_stock kitchen, unpack all clothes, find towels, sort and shelve books_ were among the large variety of important tasks). The silence of the corridor meant that her shoes clicked rhythmically along the tile, each sound in perfect time.

Except that then they weren't.

The music of Hermione's shoes was becoming disjointed, syncopated in its timing. No – she could still hear the even tapping of her feet. It wasn't _her_ steps that were slowly becoming louder. It was someone else's.

Hermione pivoted on her toes sharply, her keen eyes searching for the source of the extra footsteps. She felt adrenaline flashing through her torso like an electric shock, making her keenly aware of the fact that there was nobody there.

_But there was_, she thought. _You know there was. You heard them._

Whilst Hermione never saw who it was making the sounds, she got the feeling that it wasn't someone who had good intentions. Normally, she wouldn't trust 'feelings', preferring fact and physical evidence to prove her theories. But this was too much to just brush off. Someone had been approaching her; too close for them to suddenly duck into an office or ward without her noticing.

Abruptly, the clattering of Hermione's pencil falling to the floor brought her out of her tense assessment of her surroundings; it had slipped through her fingers as she had been thinking. She bent down to pick it up, but as she moved to straighten up, something caught her eye. On the wall to her right, just below the sign naming Ward 14, was a pinkish smear, no more than two inches in length. Generally, she wouldn't feel so suspicious, wouldn't even notice the imperfection in the white coat. But after what had just happened, Hermione slowly straightened up, removed her wand from her robe, and continued down the corridor, much warier than before.

It got worse. As she continued down the corridor, she saw another pink smear, Then another, a darker shade. Then some tiny red spots on the cold tile, no bigger than a Muggle ten pence piece. She felt she should be moving faster – clearly, something was horribly wrong and she needed to move, whether to come to someone's rescue or to escape whatever awful thing was going on, she didn't know – but she ought to be moving faster, running, even. But she couldn't.

There was no point in labelling it 'red' or 'pink' anymore. It was blood. She could see it flicked and smeared all over the floor, as if someone had tried to move away from the source but was incapable of doing so in a straight line. Not knowing if it was her feet or her heart hammering in her ears, Hermione finally broke into a run, completing the last few feet of corridor in seconds.

And then she promptly wished she hadn't.

All over the desk, steadily creeping over into a lake on the floor. Spattered over the patient files and books, and randomly flung onto the wall to her right, like a psychopath's Jackson Pollock. The blood was just _everywhere_.

Hermione had to choke down the vomit when she realised that _she _was, too.

She staggered, stumbling back against the wall. One hand clapped to her mouth whilst the other clutched desperately at the smooth expanse of wall behind her. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes unblinking and wide, she slowly peeled her hand away from the flat surface behind her, rubbing her fingertips together to feel yet more blood being spread over her hand.

She couldn't help it. She screamed.

Sprinting wildly to the closest offices, she beat wildly against the oak doors, pleading for someone, anyone who would tear away the images of her friend's harrowing end, collapsing against the wall as people came to see the source of the noise.

"Lucy... _oh, God, Lucy_... please..."

~oOo~

She was glad Harry had arrived with the team of quick-response Aurors. Currently, she was in the staff break room, sitting blankly in a chair as Harry held her tightly, neither of them saying a word. The rest of the team were documenting and clearing the scene before any more patients or staff had to see what Hermione did. After Harry had arrived, he simply picked her up and took her to the empty room without saying a word. Hermione was unbelievably grateful that Harry was there for her and that he hadn't, so far, attempted to make her talk about what she had seen. When she had had more time she would be able to think clearly and provide the Aurors with a statement, but for now all she could see were the rivulets of crimson creeping down the walls.

There was a quiet knock at the door, and a man with red-brown hair entered the room. "We've swept the scene and cleared it all. Healer Granger, I know that you will be in no mood to speak to us right now, so perhaps Auror Potter can take your statement later today or perhaps tomorrow instead. We'll be leaving now." The man – part of the team of Aurors, made to leave the room, but paused halfway through the door.

"Potter?" Harry's head turned quickly to his colleague, his expression concerned but inquisitive. "Take the rest of the day off. Look after your friend. You're excused from tomorrow if you need it."

And they were alone again.

Slowly, Harry's hand began to rub Hermione's back as he turned to her. "Let's get you home," he murmured. He moved to pick her up, as he had when they came in, but Hermione found her voice.

"I... I can walk. It's fine."

Aurors and Healers alike turned their heads toward the pair as they made their way through the corridors and past the wards of St Mungo's. The news had gotten to all the staff, and most were torn between wanting to know the details of what happened and hoping they'd never find out. They stepped into the Apparition point, and Harry spun on the spot, taking Hermione with him as he vanished.

She landed next to him on a country path, still holding his hand tightly. Turning her head slowly, she looked into worried emeralds. "Thank you," She said, the volume in her voice slowly returning.

They began walking down the path towards Hermione's house. "Hermione, I'm your friend. This is what I'm here for. I'm so, so sorry you had to go through this, but I swear I will do everything I can to help you, and find whoever did this," Harry said, neither stopping until they reached the front door. "Do you want me to come in?" he asked. He didn't want to crowd Hermione, but he knew how invaluable having someone else just_ there _could be sometimes.

"Please stay. Just for a bit."

Both she and Harry entered the house, taking off their shoes and walking down the hall. Harry told her to sit whilst he made her a cup of tea. Hermione focussed on the sound of the kettle boiling and the cupboards opening; she honestly didn't know what else to think at that point. Harry walked in, holding two mugs. Passing one to her, he sat down on the sofa by her side. Hermione sipped at the drink for a few minutes, slowly feeling slightly more human. She set her mug down on the coffee table in front of her and shuffled back into the cushions, leaning into Harry. He put an arm around her, pulling her close. It didn't take long before she slipped out of consciousness, hearing a quiet assurance from Harry that he would be there for her when she woke again.

**A/N: So here's Chapter One! This is my first attempt at real horror, so please let me know if you liked it or if you thought I could improve. I'm sorry it took me so long to update, but life has not been kind to me recently. Hopefully Chapter Two will be up sooner.**

**Please review guys – you have no idea how much it helps and motivates me!**

**Grace**


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